After the new start for the Council of Neonates

[Christine Daye]

Christine hides a sigh behind a too wide smile.

"I believe Mr Black nominated me to start... are we all settled for drinks? Mr Lunaris, if you would be so kind?"

"Ready? Never have I ever... physically turned into an animal."

She doesn't drink.

[Dorian M. Black]

Dorian appraises Christine's strangely stretched expression, a little wary. Then notes Lunaris definitively set down the bottle in the middle of the table, untouched, unwilling to act the servant. Dorian slants him a look, but it's ruined by the smile he's trying to hide.

He unscrews the flask's cap and mixes a couple drinks, before handing one to Christine and one to Kira. Even to Lunaris, does he hand a third (with a generous: "As Jesus washed..."). Then he takes his own. Awkwardly, he notices this only leaves the Gangrel without service. This was the problem with small gatherings; do something rare and nice for a minority and it looks like a majority exclusion. He compromises by sliding an empty glass across the table and raising the lip of his own tumbler to Regulus in silent toast.

"An animal?" one eyebrow slants at the first question, pleased. "I don't believe ever, in any iteration."

He pauses, index finger over the crystal, and does not drink.

[LittleBird]

Kira leans back, trying not too appear too excited (nor over cautious) at the prospect of such a game! Yet all anticipation drops at the first question, she falls a little lower in her chair, and swings her legs absentmindedly as her gloved fingers furl and unfurl in waves. Safe to say the young Kindred does not drink.

[Christine Daye]

Christine gives Dorian a warm smile of thanks as he hands her the tumbler. One gloved fingertip gently (accidentally?) touches his fingers as the crystal is handed over.

She looks into the depth of the glass, swirling the liquid inside, then focuses on the others, watching for their reactions. A mischievous half smile lingers on her lips.

...oh a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm...no a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm... a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm... and we'll all hang on behind...

[Regulus Grey]

Leaning forward, Regulus tips a generous measure of the drink into his glass. Raising his glass to Dorian in a quick toast, he takes a sip of the concoction. One corner if his mouth twitches up, baring a fang.

"I shall go next...Never have I ever...fallen in love?"

He does not sip.

[Dorian M. Black]

Dorian drinks thrice.

[LittleBird]

Kira bites her lip, deliberating for a moment-fallen in love? Huh-a bittersweet smirk-one of self-deprecation and utter joy, cracks into that practise gaze-it hasn’t stopped, she thinks, I fall harder ever day...

Kira closes her eyes and drinks. Fuck it! She’s a toreador, nothing surprising or a give away there...yet it feels as if it is. It feels as if she has never before revealed such before a crowd.
It feels as if she told a secret-yet tis not true. Well...it is, in a way. Mmm, but it’s still safe. It’s still a secret, precious, and safe, and theirs...even if it feels it’s been left to gather dust by one half of the pair.

Still!-One needn’t necessarily have fallen in love with a person...you can fall in love with a season, a piece of music, a feeling even-oh lord!?!-her eyes sweep over the room, who is she kidding!-

Kira realises she is still drinking, tis one drink-but a deep one. As if a rose in a desert finally let her roots seek out a lake! She gasps gently, stopping herself, her cheeks would flush if they could! Lost in memories and feelings she not only feels starved off-yet certainly isn’t used to surfacing in public-she takes a moment. A moment to stop levitate among those falling, sweeping memories...and hopeful dreams of more to fall for all over again in the future.

She does remove her gloves; she scratches along her creases, so fast its barely a blur, as if removing binds that worn her skin dry, as if reminding herself those starved little hands are capable of sensing, of feeling.

One hand butterflies upto her necklace, brushing against where her heart is, feathering and fluttering in tandem, while her other hands no naked fingers, brush the jewels from her lips, to savour those precious drops.

Her head turns inwardly into her shoulder, as if cuddling into herself, knees bent in the same direction, fighting the urge to bring them to her chest. She smiles gently at each and every one as they too go through their responses; half the room missing said smile behind the glass. Her eyes linger on them all, her own tender memories waltzing centre frame through those pooling eyes-though... she does look away at those who don't drink, as if embarrassed her own reaction was overzealous and overindulgent at the thought of it.

[Christine Daye]

Memory flares like a match, bright and painful.

...the feeling of his hand in her hair as he held her down... the sound of the crop landing hard... ten... twenty... thirty... a hundred... the pain... the warped pleasure... the humiliation... losing all feeling... begging as she's beaten... whimpering... crying... please.... pleasepleaseplease...

His voice:
"I love you sweet one....I love you so much...."

She forces the memory away, hard, drowning it in her music. Suddenly she sings:

"I wish I were on yonder hill... 'tis there I'd sit and cry my fill... and every tear would turn a mill.... I wish I sat on my true love's knee... many a fond story told to me... he told me things I ne'er shall see..."

She squeezes her eyes shut to hide the madness, a tear leaking from the corner of one eye. Then she opens them again, smiling that too manic smile.

She takes a slug of her drink, coughing as she half chokes.

Then, like a switch flipping, the madness is hidden and she raises her glass in a silent toast before taking another, genteel swallow.

[Eric Lunaris]

Eric returns the pleasent welcome of Christine as he follows her into her home, and happily takes a seat at the table. The glasses and bottles are put in the centre for any who desire them. The world was getting tiring, and Eric would quite happily just sit quietly amoungst his kin. Then he noticed the Gangrel and became quite alert once more. He knew little about the warmaker except his desire to get people killed. Any chance of peace flown out the window, Eric hoped this game would provide a laugh, or a death, either would clear his head.

The first question recieves a clink of glass on the table, like checking a round a poker.

The second question produces a low chuckle and a heafty swig. "That kinda evenin' then? Ff--," he remembers the polite company, "wonderful." In the moment he pitied the Gangrel, to never love is to never live. "Though I guess it may be my turn. Never 'ave I ever... betrayed ma direct elder?" His drinks clinks on the table once again.

[Christine Daye]

Christine hums softly, a faint frown on her face as she considers. But she doesn't drink, instead idly running a gloved fingertip around the mouth of the glass.